


you swallowing matches

by torielle



Category: DCU
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a sad dumb dad, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, playing fast and loose with timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torielle/pseuds/torielle
Summary: A month after being fired as Robin, Dick is forced to attend a Wayne gala, and is grateful for a particular friendly face.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Roy Harper
Comments: 42
Kudos: 278
Collections: Dick & The Titans, everybody loves dick





	you swallowing matches

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nicole for beta-ing/American picking for me, and for reading a fic for a fandom you have zero knowledge of ...

You swallowing matches and suddenly I’m yelling Strike me. Strike anywhere.  
I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you’ve taken something out of me, and I have to search  
my body for the scars

Richard Siken, _Wishbone_.

\--

“You could have given me some warning, you know,” Dick murmurs.

“I didn’t know if you’d be here,” Roy tells him, taking a sip of the sparkling cider Ollie had pushed into both their hands, just before he took off to introduce Dinah to one of the old, stuffy senators Dick’s met numerous times over the years at these kinds of galas. Dick takes his own sip, wincing at the sharp bubbles, still.

“Keeping face,” he mutters. He tries not to glance over at where Bruce is chatting to Gordon, Barbara at his side with her hair curling over her shoulders, but he gives in, letting the month old rage flare in his stomach.

“Donna said you’ve been sleeping at the Tower,” Roy says. “Are you - is that where you’re staying, now?”

Dick drags his gaze back to Roy, refusing to meet Babs’ eyes. Roy’s got a furrow between his brows that Dick’s only ever seen a handful of times; usually when one of the team is injured. Especially if it’s Dick.

“I stayed with Clark for a bit,” Dick tells him. 

He frowns, thinking of Clark with sad, sympathetic eyes, making up the sofa for him; it had been hard and lumpy, but the bedding had been the softest Dick had known, and he’d slept like the dead that first night. When he woke in the morning to Clark quietly making coffee in the kitchen, he’d felt so comfortable and refreshed and had almost forgotten all about it; until the bullet wound in his shoulder had throbbed, the dressing needing a change, and his memory had drudgingly returned. 

“About a week. But his place is tiny, I couldn’t keep, you know. Imposing. Plus Bruce realised I was there, so …”

“You don’t think the Tower’s the first place he’d check?”

“He - he doesn’t ever go there. Always respected that it’s my - our - space, not for him.” The thought makes something strike sharp in his chest and he puts the glass of cider down on the nearest passing tray.

The line deepens down Roy’s forehead, and Dick shakes his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he says. He lets himself move a little closer, as close as they dare out in the open like this, surrounded by Bruce and Ollie and all of Gotham’s high society. “I’m - I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too, Robbie,” Roy says. He has to dip his head for Dick to hear it, and it just makes Dick’s dumb teenaged brain kick into gear, reminding him of two months ago, pressed against the wall by the Tower’s zeta tube, Roy’s mouth frantically pressed against his and his hands at Dick’s jaw, at his waist. 

He feels his cheeks warm at the memory, and Roy’s lip curls into half a smirk. God, Dick wants to kiss him so much.

“You look great in this suit,” Roy murmurs, head ducking so his mouth is at Dick’s ear. “It’s an interesting change from the usual, anyway.”

“Thought you liked my spandex,” Dick hears himself reply, breath catching a little. 

The tux is Wally’s, all could Dick could borrow on short notice, and it’s too big for him, but Roy gives a soft laugh, and Dick feels his hand slide under his jacket, fast and discreet - just as they’ve both been trained. And that just makes Dick think of being Robin, and -

He pushes the thought away, focusing instead on the heat of Roy’s palm through his shirt. His fingers gently tug Dick’s shirt from the waistband of his trousers, and press against the small of his back. Dick thinks his face must truly be burning now.

“I like anything you wear,” Roy whispers, and God, despite all that training they’re both being so obvious, but something tells Dick that no one has spared either of them a glance in at least half an hour; just the two kids of rich guys tucked away in the corner, nothing of interest.

“Come on,” Roy suddenly says, and as quick as his hand was pressed against the skin of Dick’s back it’s gone, and he’s dumping his half full glass on the nearest drinks table. “Ollie got us a suite for the night upstairs. Want to get some air?”

“You say that if you’re going outside,” Dick tells him, but he lets Roy’s fingers wrap around his wrist all the same, lets him lead him out of the hotel ballroom, towards the elevators. He purposely doesn’t look back at Bruce.

\--

Dick’s overwhelmingly grateful that Roy’s on the same page, because the moment the door to the suite is closed and locked behind them Roy’s kissing him, hands tight at Dick’s jaw, and Dick gets to just close his eyes and forget about everything, let himself fall almost bonelessly into Roy’s arms.

This isn’t the first time they’ve done this - the kissing thing, at least. Not the _making out in Ollie’s suite in the Gotham hotel Bruce has owned for years_ thing. That part is a first, for them.

It’s gone further than kissing just once - a couple months ago, at the Tower, shut away in Dick’s bedroom. Roy had sat in his desk chair and Dick had sat in his lap, one of Roy’s hands in his boxers, the other at his back holding him steady whilst he panted into Roy’s neck. The others had been just down the corridor in the living space, and Dick can still remember the way he whined almost embarrassingly into Roy’s clavicle when he came, hips jerking frantically. 

Donna had called for them, then, and they’d had to frantically clean themselves up and pretend Dick was just showing Roy something on his laptop. He hadn’t had a chance to try and get Roy off too, and he could see how Roy had folded himself on the sofa in the living space in such a way that his erection wasn’t visible through his jeans.

He can feel it now, as he lets Roy gently press him down onto the bedcovers - unmistakably hard, pressed against Dick’s hip as Roy kisses him, and he can’t help but make a noise, shifting against it.

“Sorry,” Roy gasps, moving his hips away. “We don’t have to -”

“No, I want to,” Dick gets out, throat tight, and he drags Roy back down on top of him. He lets himself give in to a dumb old fantasy, arms winding around Roy’s neck and his fingers sliding into his hair. He can feel Roy’s breath catch in his throat, and he kisses Dick a little more frantically.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you, Robbie,” he says, right against Dick’s mouth. “It’s been too long since I saw you. Wanted to give you some space, when Ollie told me -”

“It’s okay,” Dick cuts across. He _really_ doesn’t want to talk about it.

Roy pauses, pushing up so he’s kneeling on the bed, hovering over Dick. His face goes soft, and he reaches to gently brush Dick’s hair away from his forehead.

“Is it still okay if I call you Robbie?”

Dick blinks, letting himself enjoy the feeling of Roy’s hand in his hair, on his face. He hadn’t even thought about that, truthfully.

“Yeah,” he nods. There’s a sharp pang in his throat, but then he feels his eyes drift close as Roy’s fingers scratch gently against his scalp. “That’s - it’s different. You’ve always called me that.”

Roy doesn’t respond; Dick just feels his weight on him again, his mouth on his and his tongue sliding into Dick’s mouth. He feels his legs spreading, and he’s never been in this position before - with a guy, at least - but it just feels natural, as natural as the hard press of Roy’s cock against his through their pants.

“Too many clothes,” Dick mutters, and Roy laughs into his mouth.

“Too right,” he agrees. Roy rolls off of him, and Dick thinks they might break a record time for costume change - except instead of pulling on bright lycra and domino masks, he’s seeing Roy shed his shoes and pants, his jacket and shirt, seeing the hard line of his cock pressed up against his tight black boxers, and Dick’s hands falter where he’s sliding off his own trousers, one arm still stuck in his shirt. 

He’s seen Roy naked - seen all of the guys naked at some point, in the Tower; it sort of comes with the job and the communal showers. But this is definitely different, and Roy’s older now - nineteen and grown properly into his muscles, stomach toned and arms looking more like Bruce’s than like Dick’s. It’s enough of a sight to make Dick feel suddenly shy, which he knows is exceedingly rare for him. But Roy’s always been good at putting him at ease, never made him feel much younger than him and the others if he could help it, and he leans forward now to help Dick out of his shirt, lips at his neck.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and Dick makes a soft, almost embarrassing moan as he sucks at his throat. He feels himself sinking back onto the bedcovers, lax under Roy’s hands and lips, and he barely notices his pants sliding down his thighs, dimly aware that Roy can see his erection, too.

“Just a second,” Roy says, then, and he’s pushing up and off the bed. 

Dick feels himself make a soft, distressed sound and Roy laughs.

“Coming right back,” he promises, and then he’s darting across the suite to the door. The room falls suddenly dark, and it washes cold over Dick, suddenly, feeling weirdly exposed, on the bed in his underwear, in the darkness. He wasn’t really hoping for a roll around in the dark; not with Roy.

“And - there we go,” Roy says, and the light comes back - except now, it’s a soft, warm glow from a lamp on one of the nightstands. He grins as he settles back onto the bed, tugging Dick up the mattress so they’re resting on the pillows, now. “Wanted to see you properly - you’re so hot.”

But Roy’s the one whose skin actually looks golden in the lamplight, eyelashes casting auburn crescents over his cheeks, the freckles on his shoulders the warm colour of earth.

“I like these,” Dick tells him, tracing a thumb over a cluster of freckles, chasing it with his mouth.

“I like your moles,” Roy grins. He runs a hand over Dick’s chest, fingers spreading over his stomach. “You’re so gorgeous, Robbie.”

 _No, that’s you,_ Dick wants to say, but he lets Roy pull him into his arms and kiss him again. He trails a hand down Roy’s back, feeling the muscles shift beneath his skin as he wraps himself around Dick. He’s bigger, stronger, than he used to be, whilst Dick feels like he’s barely changed at all, even at seventeen. He’s accepted he’ll always be a bit shorter, a bit slimmer than the other guys, but right now he kind of likes how small Roy makes him feel. It feels an awful lot like _safe_ being tucked against his chest as they kiss, and Dick feels himself clutch at Roy’s arms, clinging to the sensation.

Roy’s mouth moves down his neck, taking his time over Dick’s chest, and Dick lets his hands trail again, beyond Roy’s arms and back. Roy sucks in a sharp breath when Dick’s palm settles lightly over his cock, straining against his boxers. His mouth closes over one of Dick’s nipples, tongue flicking across it, and Dick moans, hand reflexively squeezing at Roy’s cock.

“Fuck,” Roy pants. “You don’t have to -”

“Shut up,” Dick whispers, and he squeezes properly now, feeling out the shape of it under his palm. “I didn’t get a chance to, last time. I want to.”

He pushes up onto his knees, nudging Roy to settle against the pillows, and he finally reaches for Roy’s waistband. His cock rests hard against his stomach as Dick tugs his boxers down his thighs, and for a moment he just lets himself look, kneeling at Roy’s hips. 

“I’ve never -” he starts, glancing up at Roy. He feels the treacherous blush over his cheeks again, but Roy just grins.

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. He sinks a little more into the pillows, head tilting back whilst holding Dick’s gaze, and his eyes flutter closed when Dick takes his cock in his hand. Roy lets out a shaky breath. “We can do whatever you - whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Dick jacks him slowly, watching the way Roy’s throat clenches as he swallows, breathing unevenly, and then Dick finds himself settling between Roy’s thighs. He bends down, his hips naturally pressing up and back as he slides the head of Roy’s cock into his mouth, and he can only imagine what he looks like, ass in the air dressed only in his underwear, whilst Bruce’s gala carries on downstairs. 

He pushes the thought from his mind, again, and focuses instead on Roy’s cock pressing onto his tongue, lips stretching around its width so that they feel like they’re cracking at the corners. His breathing feels all wrong - he’s never had something in his mouth like this before, doesn’t quite know how to steady himself - but Roy’s hand settles in his hair with a groan, gently pressing his head down, and it helps; he lets Roy’s cock slide further into his mouth, towards his throat, and his breathing slowly adjusts. 

Unsure of what to do with his hands, he settles one at the base of Roy’s cock, squeezing when Roy gives another groan, and lets the other trail back between his own legs. Roy’s fingers tighten in his hair and he feels himself grunt at the feeling, throat opening and Roy’s cock sliding further down - his nose floods with the smell of Roy’s warm skin, the tang of sweat, and it’s an almost overwhelming amount of sensation. He panics a little, just briefly, eyes flying open as he almost chokes on the weight in his mouth, but he forces himself to be calm, pressing the heel of his palm against his own cock like that’ll ground him.

He pulls off when Roy’s fingers scrabble at his jaw, and when he glances up Roy’s eyes are dark, pupils dilated. His chest is heaving.

“Don’t wanna go off too fast,” he chuckles, voice rough. “C’mere -”

Dick lets him pull him down to his chest, feeling himself straddle Roy’s hips - again, it comes so naturally, and he wonders if it feels like this for everyone; like he could sink bonelessly into the bed, melded into Roy’s body. His spine feels like it’s liquid.

“What do you wanna do, Robbie,” Roy’s asking, hand down the back of Dick’s boxers and squeezing at his ass in a way that makes Dick’s hips jerk, his cock shoving down against Roy’s. “How do you want me?”

Dick breathes heavily, letting Roy kiss and squeeze and pet at him whilst he thinks. He’s touched girls like this, squeezed at soft breasts and dipped fingers into damp underwear, but he’s not been on this side of it before and he wants - he wants it to be like that, like when he’s fucked girls, but like how Roy’s touching him now -

“I want you,” Dick breathes, voice rough and greedy, and he’s shameless now with how he grinds himself down against Roy. 

“Fuck,” Roy gasps.

“Want you inside of me,” Dick tells him, eyes closing and head hanging down as he methodically moves his hips, sliding into a messy rhythm against Roy’s. “You - you can fuck me, I want that.”

Roy doesn’t freeze, exactly, but he certainly pauses, hands stationary where they’re still gripping at Dick’s ass. Dick pulls his head back to see Roy’s face; his expression is lax, a little startled. Dick blinks.

“What?” he whispers, resisting the urge to keep grinding down. He can’t focus on much besides the pressure against his cock and the way Roy’s lips are slick with spit, red from kissing.

“I -” Roy lets out a sharp breath. “I just think - that’s a really big thing.”

“But,” Dick feels himself frown. “You’ve done it before, right?”

They’ve never talked about it, really - the fact that he’s not the first guy Roy’s been involved with. Dick had just figured - with almost absolute certainty - that it was the case because Roy’s always seemed so sure of what he’s doing, and touches Dick in a way that just shouts of prior experience.

He sees Roy’s throat twitch as he swallows.

“Yeah, I’ve - I’ve done it a couple times.”

“Well, that’s good,” Dick tries for a small grin. “So - how about you do it with me?”

He bends to kiss Roy again, and Roy’s mouth parts against his - Dick feels him moan into his mouth, and Roy’s hands come up to hold Dick’s face, fingers gentle against his cheeks.

“It’s just -” Roy breaks off, panting. “It’s a really big deal, Robbie. I don’t - I don’t know if you’re … ready, for that.”

Dick’s the one who pauses, this time. He pulls back, his face leaving Roy’s hands. He can’t help but frown.

“What do you mean, I’m _not ready for that_?”

He’s pulled back enough now that Roy can sit up a little, resting on his elbows; Dick’s still sat in his lap, though, two bare legs either side of Roy’s hips, the hem of his boxers rucked up around the tops of his thighs.

“This is only like, the second time we’ve done more than kissing. I just think it’s a really big jump.”

“But I want to,” Dick says. “Isn’t that what matters? That we both want to?”

Roy shifts a little, his expression tightening slightly at the edges. Dick’s stomach twists.

“You … you don’t want to?”

“No, I do,” Roy shakes his head. “Just - maybe not tonight. I don’t … I’m not sure how comfortable I am with going that far tonight.”

Dick leans back on his heels. He feels thrown, for the moment, and it’s weird to be almost turned down when he can feel how hard they both still are, right between his legs. But there’s something in the uncertainty on Roy’s face that makes him nervous.

“Can I - ask why?” His voice barely sounds like his own, thick and hesitant.

Roy’s hand settles on his thigh, squeezing and gently rubbing it. Dick can feel the grain of his hair shifting against Roy’s palm.

“It would be your first time, Dick,” he says softly. 

Dick’s face suddenly feels stupidly hot and flushed.

“Not with girls. I’ve slept with girls.”

“Your first time with a guy, though,” Roy says, and despite the rush of shame Dick can feel stretching from his face, down his neck and over his chest, Roy’s eyes are kind, and he’s smiling. “That’s different. Really different.”

“I’m not a kid, Roy,” Dick sighs with frustration, words coming out sharp and biting. “I’m seventeen - I don’t live at home, anymore. I’ve been fighting crime since I was nine, since before you and _any_ of the others. I grew up quicker than you guys.”

“I know, and I love that about you,” Roy tells him. He sits up properly, and his hands come back to Dick’s face. “But I still don’t think you’re ready. I think we should give going that far a bit more time.”

“Why?” Dick asks, and he tries not to sound petulant but it’s really, really hard not to.

“Because,” Roy murmurs, and now he’s kissing Dick again, a hand brushing his hair back from his face. “You’re _really_ important to me. And because of that, I want to take it slow.”

Dick kisses him back, closing his eyes and letting himself melt back into it again. There’s still a twist of want, petulance, in his chest, but he reminds himself what he said before, to Roy. It matters if they both want to.

And Roy doesn’t, right now.

“Okay,” Dick whispers, mostly into Roy’s mouth. “That’s fine.”

“There’s lots of other things we can do, though,” is all Roy responds with, before he gives Dick a wicked smile and flips them both, so Dick’s flat on his back on the mattress, staring breathlessly up at Roy, between his legs.

Dick reaches for him, dragging him down with a hand at the back of Roy’s neck and a helpless smile.

“Show me,” he says.

\--

Once Roy’s cleaned them both up, they slide under the covers and Roy pulls Dick into his arms.

“That was kinda weird,” Dick mumbles into Roy’s neck. He smells of light sweat, and soap from the hotel bathroom, a lingering drift of the cologne he was wearing earlier. “Like, a good weird. You know?”

Roy laughs quietly, stroking a hand slowly down Dick’s back. It’s soothing enough to make Dick close his eyes, his spine melting.

“Yeah, I know.”

Dick shifts; he can still kind of feel it - the sensation of Roy’s fingers tucked into him, easing him open. He’d have been embarrassed by the moans he made if they hadn’t made Roy kiss him that much harder.

“It felt good, just - it was weird. Different.” He sighs against Roy’s collarbone. Roy’s fingers dance over the strip of moles Dick knows stretches over his shoulder blade. “I think you were right, about taking it slow.”

“We’ll get there, Dick,” Roy tells him, voice soft. “I’ll - I’m gonna take my time with you. Make it perfect. Take all night getting you ready.”

Dick fights to wriggle, gut stirring - it wouldn’t take much to get him hard again, especially if Roy keeps going like that. Thinking about Roy spending the night at the Tower, shut up together in Dick’s room with nothing but time and that bottle of lube Roy took from the hotel bathroom, makes a hot flush threaten again down his chest.

Roy’s quiet again, though, and Dick listens to their breathing in the low light from the lamp, feeling Roy’s chest gently rise against his. Roy’s hair tickles at his face in a way that’s so familiar it’s tender, like a barely healed graze - he’s known Roy so long, now. It feels only natural that they’d end up like this.

Roy’s fingers hesitate over the bullet wound on his shoulder - a month old, now, healing messily and the scar knotted without Alfred’s diligent supervision - before settling instead on the scars at the side of Dick’s ribcage.

He feels Roy hesitate before he speaks.

“Is - is that where -”

He doesn’t finish, and for a moment they’re silent in the big, still hotel suite, and Dick wants to push him to say it. _Go on. Ask me. Is that from Two-Face? Is that what’s left from Harvey Dent and his baseball bat?_

But Roy’s touch is light, gentle, and Dick can feel how he’s tensed anxiously, and Dick gives in without even trying.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

Roy lets out a long, slow breath. His fingers press a little firmer against the scars and it’s grounding in a way that surprises Dick. He lets his own fingers slide into the hair at the nape of Roy’s neck.

“How old were you?” Roy asks.

Dick pauses before answering - it was before he met any of the others, and he knows he’s served as something of a cautionary tale throughout the League, a warning from mentor to protégé. _Look what happened to Robin when he didn’t listen to Batman’s orders. Nearly died before hitting puberty._

“Ten,” he tells Roy.

“Fuck,” Roy says, voice rough in the soft lamp light.

The quiet feels too thick, and Dick pushes himself up onto his elbow so that he can look properly at Roy, head resting on his palm. He runs a hand slowly up Roy’s chest; he has his own fair share of scars on his torso too.

“He fired me then, you know. That was the first time.”

Roy blinks.

“I didn’t know that.”

Dick shakes his head. He’s not surprised - he knows Bruce isn’t proud of it, of how his instinctive reaction to Dick being beaten half to death pushed Dick even further out of reach. He wouldn’t be surprised if Clark’s the only person in the League who does know that full story.

“It took me a long time to realise he wasn’t actually angry at me. But - I ran away then, as well.”

“You were ten,” Roy says, voice sad, and Dick nods, leaning into the hand Roy cups against his cheek. “But you came back?”

“Eventually. He made me Robin again, on the condition that I never disobey him again.”

He watches the muscles in Roy’s face slowly fall into a frown.

“You don’t think - there’s no chance of that happening this time, as well?”

Dick hesitates, throat tightening. He’d be lying if he were to say he hadn’t thought about it; returning to the manor and promising, again, to never disobey an order. To follow blindly, for the chance of putting the uniform back on, living in the manor and seeing Alfred every day. There’s a small, twisting part of him that would do it, as much as he’d hate it. 

But it’s not just Dick’s pride holding him back from that - he knows even grovelling would be turned down. Bruce has moved on.

Dick reaches out and gently brushes a lock of hair, warm and damp with sweat and golden in the lamplight, from Roy’s face.

“He doesn’t want me anymore. It’s over. Robin’s … finished.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, and Dick wishes, suddenly, that this suite wasn’t so high up, so expensive and soundproofed, that they could hear the gala below them. The heavy silence in the dimly lit room threatens to trick him, make him forget, make him think he’s got Roy all to himself. That at the end of the night, Roy won’t be staying here with Ollie, and Dick won’t be heading back to the Tower, alone.

“I’m sorry,” Roy says, but Dick’s already shaking his head. 

“I don’t need him. I - I just don’t want to stop doing it, you know? This month not being Robin has sucked.”

Roy nods.

“Maybe,” he says quietly. “You can still do it. And not be Robin.”

Dick blinks.

“A different name?”

Roy shrugs.

“Sure. I mean - I know it’s not just a name to you, I know it’s connected to your Mom. But … there’s nothing stopping you doing it under another name.”

Dick traces a line across Roy’s collarbone with his fingertip.

“So I’ll just. I’ll find … someone else to be, I guess.”

A smile flickers at Roy’s mouth. The way he pulls Dick back down, warm against his chest, makes something trigger in Dick’s head.

“You know - Clark told me, when I was staying at his, that he has the fortress because it’s a piece of home. Sometimes it’s all he has. And he asked me if I had somewhere like that, and the answer was so easy.”

“The Tower?”

“Yeah,” Dick nods, forehead tucked against Roy’s cheek. “Bruce might not be my family anymore, but - it’s not like I haven’t always got a home to go to. I’ve got the others - Donna’s been amazing - and … well, I’ve got you too, right?”

“Definitely, Robbie,” Roy whispers.

He nudges his thumb under Dick’s chin, tilting it so he can look at his face. His expression falls when he sees Dick’s wet eyes.

“Sorry - it’s just, even though I’ve, like, accepted it’s finished, and I’m gonna be someone else. It still really fucking hurts.”

“Of course,” Roy says. “It’s okay, here -”

He presses forward for a kiss, holding Dick tight against him. His grip is strong enough that Dick’s a little breathless, but he feels more secure, solid, than he has in a month, like he’s been drifting incorporeal between Clark’s and the Tower, barely an imprint of himself. Dick clutches back at Roy, like if he holds on tight enough, leaves enough of a mark on his warm skin, he can somehow express how fucking _good_ this has been, tonight. 

“You know,” Roy says, breath hot over Dick’s mouth. “There are other things I can call you, besides _Robbie_.”

“Yeah?”

Roy nods, and the way he leans in and catches Dick’s earlobe between his teeth is enough to make Dick shiver, squeezing his legs around the thigh Roy’s nudged between them.

“How does _baby_ sound?”

Dick snorts; the punch he aims at Roy’s shoulder is diverted when Roy catches his wrist with a sharp grin.

“Or _darling_? Though you know, _wonder boy_ really is a classic …”

“Shut up, Speedy,” Dick murmurs, and then they’re kissing again, messier and a little more urgently than before, like the teenagers they’ve never quite been. Dick’s legs end up wrapped around Roy’s waist, the sheets rucked up around their hips, and he’s a few kisses away from dragging Roy’s hand back down to his cock when the heavy quiet of the suite is cut across by a ringing phone.

Roy groans.

“That’ll be Ollie,” he says, reluctantly disentangling himself from Dick. He reaches from the bed for his dress pants, fishing his phone from the pocket. “Shit, it’s past midnight.”

Dick climbs out of bed to find his own phone whilst Roy speaks to Ollie; the only message on there is a meme from Wally, followed up by a calculus question from college. Dick sits on the edge of the bed to send him the answer, listening to Roy tell Ollie they’ll be back at the party shortly. He doesn’t even make an excuse, just says _we needed some time away from the grown-ups_ , and laughs at whatever Ollie says in reply.

It makes Dick think, for a moment, of how it used to be easy like that when Bruce called him. Bruce is by no means as quick to laugh as Ollie, but there was a time, just a few years ago, when Dick barely had to crack one joke before he’d hear Bruce chuckling warmly down the phone to him. 

After Two-Face, after running away the first time and after coming back, Bruce had insisted on a change in how they finished phone calls, moving forward - they had to affirm when they’d next see each other, even if just _I’ll see you at home tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Be there in ten minutes_. Bruce had said it was for his own sanity, to fight his own anxiety, and Dick had always thought - somewhat helplessly - that it was sweet. It used to make him smile fondly, back before the phone calls were relentless and Bruce had stopped chuckling down the phone to him.

He hadn’t even called Dick about coming to this gala, tonight - he’d sent an email, via his secretary. The only reason Dick had gone along with it was the promise of seeing Babs, but even that had felt too painful. Coming to Gotham really did hit too close to home, after all.

A palm runs up his spine, settling warm between his shoulder blades, and Dick glances to the side just as Roy kisses his cheek.

“Another appearance required before bed, I’m afraid.”

Dick nods; Roy’s already dressed, and he waits patiently as Dick finds his own clothes and pulls them on. He notices that Roy leaves his tie and jacket behind on the barely made bed, his shirt rumpled and half tucked in, and it just reminds Dick that Roy’s coming back here tonight, while Dick heads back to the Tower, to his dark room with month old sheets and everything he could take from the Manor in a backpack. He’s grateful when Roy takes his face in his hands again and kisses him, against the wall, chest pressed to Dick’s, barely a thought left in his brain as he focuses on kissing back, trying to stay upright.

“Back to the lions,” Roy sighs. He presses one last, sweet kiss to Dick’s mouth, brushing some hair from his face, and lets them both out of the suite.

He holds Dick’s hand the whole way along the hallway, in the elevator, down to the ballroom.

They’re nearly at the foyer when they both pause; both having picked up on the same voices around the corner, the same tone and pitch. Instinctively, Dick pulls Roy against the wall and they freeze, listening hard.

“- to tell you, Bruce - I haven’t seen him. And even if I had, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“You’re as bad as Clark,” Bruce says, voice sharp, and it makes Dick flinch. Bruce has barely acknowledged him all night, and it’s the first time they’ve seen each other in a month, but he’d forgotten how fast he could react to the sound of Batman _pissed off_. “Diana as well - you think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve all been treating me?”

“You’ll have to forgive a little frostiness on our part, Bruce,” Ollie replies. “We’re all just questioning your parenting skills of late.”

Dick hears Bruce sigh.

“This is ridiculous. You know where he is, with Roy - I have the right to know -”

“I think you’ve given up any _right_ to know his whereabouts,” Ollie fires back, and - Dick has never heard Ollie like this. Never heard him sound so downright _furious_.

He realises Roy’s still holding his hand when Roy squeezes it, fingers pressed tight against his. Dick can hear his pulse in his ears as he listens; this is a risky conversation to be had in the foyer of a Wayne gala.

“We all looked up to you, Bruce - you were the first one, to have … and we all let you guide us, all wanted a relationship like you and Dick had. And the next thing we hear, you’ve tossed him aside for no good reason -”

“- He wasn’t listening to instructions, it wasn’t _safe_ -”

“Don’t bullshit me!” Ollie snaps. “You didn’t do this because of _disobedience_ , you did this because he got hurt and it freaked you out, and you were already freaked out because he’d started growing up, started making his own decisions, and you couldn’t face that!”

Bruce doesn’t reply, and for a long moment it’s just the four of them in the hallway, two people either side of one corner, each pair out of sight from the other. Dick squeezes Roy’s fingers so hard he wouldn’t blame him for pulling away.

“I’ve never seen a kid lead as well as he does,” Ollie says, voice sharp but wavering. “He looked up to you more than anyone else, worked so hard to be like you - and because he’s doing great, with the team, you couldn’t bear it, could you? Your - loyal little minion, suddenly grown up and making his own decisions, questioning those other people make. And you know what, when Roy started doing that I _loved_ it, because it meant he could think for himself. He didn’t need to live his life in my shadow.”

“He’s not grown up,” Bruce says, and it comes out so rough it makes Dick’s chest burn. “He’s only just turned seventeen.”

“Then why the hell did you kick him out of his home, Bruce?”

“I didn’t,” Bruce replies, and his voice is firm again, back to _pissed off_. Dick feels sorry for the criminals of Gotham that Batman will take his rage out on tonight. “I did not kick him out - he chose to leave.”

“You made him feel like he had to, which is the same thing in my book, Bruce.”

Roy shifts closer, his arm pressed tight against Dick’s in a firm, warm line. Dick bites down on his bottom lip, eyes hot and damp.

“You hurt him; he doesn’t want to see you. Respect that.” Ollie sighs.

There’s another long pause - the hallway heavy with silence despite the noise from the ballroom filtering around them - and Bruce has to know he’s there, Bruce is too well trained to not know that there are two people listening in on his conversation ten feet away. But he just sighs right back at Ollie.

“I’ll see you at the next meeting,” he says, and they all listen to his footsteps disappearing back into the ballroom.

“Come on,” Roy whispers, when they’re certain he’s left the foyer.

Dick lets Roy pull him around the corner, where they find Ollie scratching at his beard, looking as perpetually exhausted as all the League members do in civilian dress. He looks vaguely surprised when he spots them, and Dick wonders if he was the only one of the four of them to not know that Dick and Roy were listening in.

“Hey, guys,” he says heavily. “Dick - I’m so sorry.”

Of all things Dick had figured would happen on running away from the Manor, being hugged by Green Arrow was not one of them.

“Your dad’s an ass - I’m so sorry that you had to hear that.”

“No,” Dick shakes his head, face pressed to Ollie’s shoulder. “Thanks, for what you said …”

Ollie’s arms are warm and strong around him like Roy’s. Like Bruce’s used to be, after a nightmare - he used to let Dick climb into his bed when he’d woken up scared, heart racing, but Bruce got nightmares too, and it had been a soft, warm secret between them that sometimes, Bruce would come climb into Dick’s bed, desperate for a hug, to sleep next to a warm body. Dick would wrap his skinny arms around Bruce’s big, warm torso, muscles firm against Dick’s skin, and hold him until their breathing matched up, their heartbeats in sync. Two bodies, one big and one small - even now that Dick’s older - lying together quietly in the dark beneath the sheets, and it always made Dick feel - needed. Important. Like he was some vital part of Bruce’s life.

Dick’s eyes grow so hot at that memory that he squeezes them tightly shut.

“You know you’ve always got a place to stay with us, right?” Ollie tells him, when he lets Dick go. His hands stay planted on Dick’s shoulders. “You say the word, and the guest room is yours. Or we’ll kick Roy out of his room - it’s about time he moved out.”

“That’s not necessary,” Dick laughs wetly. He blinks furiously. “But thanks - really.”

Clark had offered for him to stay, too, even when Bruce had realised he was sleeping there - Barry had offered for him to stay with him and Iris, once Wally had told them, and Diana had even contacted him to say he was welcome to spend some time at her place in Paris, if he needed. The response from the League has been a little overwhelming.

“You’re being well-looked after at the Tower, right?” Roy smiles. He grabs Dick’s hand right in front of Ollie, expression fond and familiar, and it’s all Dick can do to choke back anymore errant tears.

“That’s good. But I mean it, Dick - Dinah too. You’ll always have a place to stay if you need it.”

Before Dick can give another pathetic, choked up _thanks_ , someone calls Ollie’s name from the ballroom, a senator waving jovially, half his drink slopping out of its glass and over the expensive, spotless foyer tiles.

“Duty calls,” Ollie says, an eyebrow raised wryly at Roy. “I’ll see you in there?”

He gives Dick another hug, ruffles his hair like all of the League used to do, when he first started making appearances at the Watchtower, and heads back into the ballroom.

“Will you be okay?” Roy asks.

Dick nods - he will be, soon. He’s sure. But he knows he’s ignoring the next invitation - _summoning_ \- to a Wayne Foundation gala.

“I’ll come see you at the Tower in a few days, okay?” Roy pulls him close, and kisses him - right in the middle of the hotel foyer. Dick clings to his arms. “Thanks, for tonight - it was amazing.”

“No - thank _you_ ,” Dick stutters, face hot, and Roy laughs.

“Bye, Robbie,” he whispers, and presses in for another kiss - and then Dick watches him go, following Ollie into the ballroom with his rumpled, barely tucked in shirt, hair a too-long mess. Dick’s chest squeezes tightly, aching already at the loss.

\--

He checks his phone as he’s heading down the hotel steps to the sidewalk - just a text from Donna, a simple _the Tower’s boring without you_ \- when he hears -

“Richard.”

Dick’s throat clenches, stomach falling away - he can’t ever not recognise that voice.

“Alf,” he hears himself say, voice cracking as he turns to look over his shoulder; Alfred is climbing out of the driver’s seat of the car, pulled up against the kerb with the engine off. Dick can see the thermos of tea in the cupholder beside the wheel.

Before Dick knows it, he’s burying his face in the collar of Alfred’s coat, and Alfred’s hand is cupping the back of his head.

“It’s so good to see you,” Dick hears himself say, words pouring out of him and into Alfred’s shoulder as he holds Dick close. “You’ve no idea how much I missed you, Alfie.”

“I rather believe I feel the same,” Alfred tells him. He slowly releases Dick; when he pulls back to look at him properly, Alfred’s face is so sad and familiar it aches in Dick’s bones, right down his spine.

“I - I’ve been so miserable,” Dick says. 

And he hasn’t told anyone that - not even confessed it to Donna, during one of their long nights lying on the floor of the Tower common area, talking about what Dick can be now that he’s no longer Robin - but he knows it’s the truth. Even with Clark, with Donna, with all the support from the League and them turning a cold shoulder to Bruce; even tonight, with Roy. He can’t deny that being away from the manor, away from Alfred - from Bruce. He can’t pretend it hasn’t been the most painful thing he’s known since he watched his parents fall.

“I have to admit I’ve felt the same, Richard,” Alfred sighs, and somehow, he looks even more sad, eyes glinting damp in the streetlights. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

It hits like a punch, like when he and Bruce would spar and he’d lose his focus, and get clipped - a measured, deliberate force that still blindsides him. Because Alfred’s right - Dick slipped out in the middle of the night, way after that last patrol and their explosive argument. After Alfred had helped him to bed and given him a dose of painkillers, Dick had climbed back out of bed, packed his backpack with whatever he could manage one-handed, arm trussed up in a sling, snuck down to the cave and left via the zeta tube. He’s ashamed to realise he hadn’t even been thinking of Alfred, how hurt he must have been that morning when he went to wake Dick up, to check on the bullet wound in his shoulder and give him more painkillers, and found his bed empty, room abandoned.

“I’m sorry,” Dick says helplessly. “I just - I had to get out, I had to leave -”

“I understand, my boy,” Alfred tells him, and then he’s pulling Dick close because shit, Dick’s actually crying now; not just the hot damp eyes he’s managed to blink back all evening but hitching breath and wet cheeks, hands clutching desperately at Alfred’s coat.

“I’m sorry, really,” he gasps. “I never meant to hurt you - I, I don’t want you to think I don’t love you, Alfie, because I really do, you’ve been so good to me for so long -”

Alfred shushes him, holds him tight and rocks him gently, like he used to do when Dick was small, when he first came to the Manor and would remember, quite suddenly, about his parents. Dick’s pretty sure he’d cried on and off for the entire first month he was there, trailing from empty room to empty room until he found Alfred or Bruce, someone to wipe his face and soothe him. He remembers clinging to Alfred in the dining room, gasping _I’m all alone, now_ , and Alfred whispering furiously back _no, you are not, you will never be alone again_.

“I can’t stand to see you this upset,” Alfred says, as he lets Dick go again. He still has to dip his head to look Dick in the eye. “You’re looking far too slim, you know. I can’t help but worry about you constantly. Please - just come home, Master Dick.”

Dick’s already shaking his head.

“I can’t,” he sobs, scrubbing weakly at his wet face. “I - I can’t not do it, Alfie, he won’t let me be Robin and I can’t live there if he won’t let me do that, I _have_ to -”

Alfred’s got a handkerchief out, and starts gently wiping at Dick’s cheeks.

Dick takes a few hitching, strangled breaths.

“He was my best friend,” he gets out, and honestly - that’s been the worst part of it; he’s missed more than anything just existing in the same home as Bruce, evenings spent watching films together and laughing helplessly, nudging endlessly at Bruce until he caved, smirking, kicking Dick off the sofa. The rare vacations they would take, training together, sharing a world tangled up with vigilantism and civilian life, because for a long time Bruce was the closest friend he had, and Dick was his, and it had been _special_. “I - I thought I was important to him -”

He stops when he sees Alfred’s gaze suddenly shift; Dick turns slowly to look, though he already knows what he’ll see. Bruce pauses at the base of the hotel steps - anyone else might think he’s giving them space, privacy, but Dick knows it’s because he’s too awkward to interrupt, too damn useless with emotions to intrude on such an embarrassing display.

“I should go,” Dick says, voice rough from crying. “I’m sorry.”

He turns before Alfred can reply, which he knows is cruel but his flight instinct is kicking in fast. He has to cross Bruce’s path to leave and it seems inevitable that they would pause a few feet from each other; the light from the large hotel doors spills out behind Bruce, stretching his shadow huge and over Dick’s on the steps.

Dick meets Bruce’s eyes, taking in every familiar edge of it he can pick out in the night air; his jawline, his thick brows, the way his hair curls at one side of his parting. Bruce’s face is tense, jaw set, but his eyes look even more sad than Alfred’s.

It’s silent between them, for a moment, and then Bruce finally murmurs -

“Dick,” his forehead creased like he’s concerned. He makes something of an aborted movement, hand coming up as though to reach for him, and Dick really has to leave.

“Good night,” he manages, voice clipped despite how torn it is from crying. He walks past Bruce, leaving the light from the hotel spilling over the steps behind him.

\--

It’s only when he steps out of the zeta tube he took back to the Tower that he realises he’s holding Alfred’s handkerchief; it’s carefully embroidered with _A.P._ in the corner. He wouldn’t put it past Alfred leaving it with him on purpose, to give him some excuse to return it and see him. He’s so grateful his eyes start stinging again.

Donna’s sleeping on the sofa, an old rerun of _Pretty Woman_ playing low on the television - Dick knows she’s seen it a dozen times by now, but Donna claims it’s part of her _education on the world of Men_. She stirs when he settles on the sofa beside her, his hand settling in her hair where it’s spread out over the cushions.

“How was it?” she asks, voice thick with sleep.

Dick hesitates slightly, before answering; a recap feels too draining right now.

“Uneventful.”

He’s unwilling to even tell her about Roy - what happened tonight, between them, glows warm and secret in his chest, tucked right behind his breastbone.

“What time is it?” 

Dick fumbles for his phone - his watch is still set to Eastern Time, even after a month. 

“Only eleven.”

“See how boring it is without you,” Donna yawns. Her eyes are still closed. “Come on, join me. Need to finish the movie.”

“You’re not even watching it,” Dick laughs quietly, but he lies down, head lined up with hers so their scalps are almost touching. The benefit of having the Tower to themselves these days is having complete dominion over the enormous sofa; they can both stretch their legs out completely and still not reach the end.

“I’m listening,” Donna murmurs.

Dick hears her fall asleep again within minutes, breathing soft and deep, the movie playing quietly in the background. Roy’s texted him, and he opens the message now, holding the phone above his face, the screen a bright square in the dark common room.

_miss you already. wish I could hold you all night._

Dick sighs, staring up into the gloom. He can still see Bruce’s face - eyes sad, brow furrowed with worry. Dick’s fist loosens around Alfred’s handkerchief, letting it fall quietly over his chest. He closes his eyes, tipping back until the crown of his head rests against Donna’s. She makes a quiet sound in her sleep, presses back against him.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
